Countdown
by planxtary
Summary: A world where everyone has a countdown above their head, indicating when they are going to die. A rule that fate cannot be messed with, for if someone does not die when they are supposed to, someone else will die in their place. And a boy who could not help but save the blond he saw on the street with only five minutes left to live.
1. Chapter 1

_**A world where everyone has a countdown above their head, indicating when they are going to die. A rule that fate cannot be messed with, for if someone does not die when they are supposed to, someone else will die in their place. And a boy who could not help but save the blond he saw on the street with only five minutes left to live.**_

_**Warning: Swearing probably. Angst/Romance.**_

_**Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**_

* * *

><p>He stared into the backpack that lay in front of him – covered completely in the red, white, and blue of his country's flag, of course – and went over a mental checklist. Enough clothes to last a week, possibly two or three if he wore things more than once – check. Toiletries – check. Snacks – check. Entertainment, money, a knife just in case – all check. He'd grab his phone's charger on the way out, as well. He didn't know when he would get the chance to charge his phone, or if he'd get a chance at all, but it was best to be prepared.<p>

Honestly, he didn't even know when he'd leave, didn't know if he'd actually go through with his crazy idea of running away in the first place. He'd come close to it before, though, when family or school or just life in general seemed like too much to deal with. He figured that if he did it, he'd be smart about it, and so he had packed anything he'd need to keep himself alive and had a destination to a cheap motel in mind. He could leave at a second's notice, if he really wanted to.

Despite how sure he was in himself, he still felt like he was forgetting something important. Like if he left, he'd suddenly find himself in need of the one thing he happened to leave behind. Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe it was his conscience's way of telling him that he didn't really want to leave in the first place. He tried to ignore the latter option.

"Al?" his brother called, poking his head into his room from the open doorway, blond hair bouncing in place. "Um, you might've forgotten, but it's Monday. We need to leave soon or I'll be late for practise."

Alfred rolled his eyes, picked up the backpack and carried it away to his closet, shielding it behind his body in a way that he hoped would keep it hidden from his brother. He could be way too nosy at all the wrong times. "_Um, you might've forgotten_," he mimicked, badly copying his brother's voice. Even without looking, he could tell that Matthew's eyebrows were furrowed in annoyance. "You're allowed to yell at me, you know? Tell me to get a move on? Like jeez, you're becoming more of a pushover every day, Mattie."

"Fine," his brother huffed, "hurry the hell up because I've got places to be, asshole," Matthew said coldly, yet as Alfred glanced at him over his shoulder, he saw that he was smiling and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, having entered his room at some point. A small bag lay at his feet, which Alfred knew contained a change of clothes and whatever else it was that he took with him to practise. "Also, lose some weight."

"Okay, that was rude and I'm telling Mom," Alfred said. He dumped the backpack in the back of the closet before returning to his brother. They held each other's stare for a few long seconds, then both burst into a fit of childish giggles. After a moment, he was able to calm down and grabbed his car keys, twirling them around his finger. "C'mon, let's get you to your gymnastics class, princess."

They made their way downstairs, Matthew muttering something about how gymnastics wasn't girly and how his coach had recommended it so he could stay in shape during hockey's off-season. Alfred shook his head and talked about how he was just making excuses, and Matthew smacked his arm.

Moments like these were the ones he loved, the ones he thought back to when reconsidering his plan to run away. Friends came and went, but siblings were forever, and while some considered that a curse, Alfred thought it to be a blessing. His brother could understand him in ways that no one else could, and maybe it was the fact that they were twins that made them especially close. He and Matthew could tease each other because no matter what they said, they both knew it was only a joke that meant no harm. Every little insult was a cleverly masked _I care_ or _please don't hurt yourself_. It was just a shame they'd never learnt to say I love you.

He knew they were flawed, how their little "system" would probably be shot down as terrible and offensive. But it worked, and that was all that mattered. When you didn't know love, only heartbreak, it was difficult to be affectionate. He figured it was one of those situations you had to be in, in order to truly understand. The things they were too afraid to tell each other, they were able to communicate anyway. Yet despite it, he'd noticed a growing gap between him and his brother. They weren't as close as they'd used to be, and he had no idea why. That was what frustrated him the most. If his brother stopped telling him he cared in the only way Alfred knew how to comprehend, then he feared he did not care at all.

Was his brother hurting, and he'd missed it somehow? Was that what changed him? Alfred knew all too well what a bleeding heart could do to a person.

"Hey Matt," he said once they were both comfortably seated in his car. He took a moment to push the keys into the ignition and listened as the old pick-up – his sixteenth birthday present, the best his mother could afford – sputtered and roared to life. "You'd tell me if there was something bothering you, right?" he asked, avoiding looking at his brother as he pulled out of the driveway.

Matthew was silent for a moment, then, "Honestly Alfred, I'm surprised you even need to ask that."

He bit his lip, trying to keep his gaze on the road ahead. It was a surprisingly nice day. Where they lived, it rained often, so the clear blue sky was something he tried to appreciate. They could use more sunny days. Right now, however, he felt it clashed with his sombre mood. It was like the universe was mocking him, somehow. "I know. It's not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just... I need assurance, I guess."

He heard his brother sigh, and braved a quick glance in his direction to see that Matthew was staring out the window, appearing to be somewhere else. His gaze shifted to the black numbers above his brother's head, but he saw nothing abnormal. "Of course I'd tell you, Al. And you'd tell me too, right?"

"Right."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

And yet, his stomach twisted with unease.

* * *

><p>The next day, it stormed.<p>

Ever since his talk with his brother – the closest thing they'd ever had to a heart-to-heart – Alfred's thoughts steadily grew more and more panicked. It wasn't often that he over-thought things; in fact, he tended to accept the simplest solution to a problem, even if it didn't make sense, just because that was the easiest thing to do. But every once in a while, something came along that made his gut churn and mind restless. This was one of those cases.

As he stocked shelves at the small grocery store he worked at, he couldn't get his brother's strange behaviour off his mind. Of course, he'd jumped to the worst case scenario. What if his brother was planning something reckless, he wondered as he briefly remembered his own plans to run away, among other unsavoury things he'd considered. It did make sense that twins would share the same toxic thoughts. He didn't want to imagine his brother in any of the situations he'd put himself into while staring up at the ceiling on countless sleepless nights.

He pulled the final bags of chips from the box and placed them in their proper spots on the shelf. After briefly glancing over his work to make sure everything was right, he allowed himself to look boredly out the large window in front of him. Many people walked past the store, huddled within themselves to try to preserve any warmth in the rainy weather. Most of them were wearing thick coats, hoods, or held umbrellas, though every once in a while someone walked by with nothing. He almost felt bad for them.

He looked at the black numbers hovering above their heads, couldn't stop thinking about his brother's own. Countdowns. An elderly man strolling by with his wife was labelled 004:84:05:28:06, while a young girl across the street with her mother was 098:204:08:04:28. The countdowns showed the years, days, hours, minutes, seconds that remained... until their deaths.

Everyone had a countdown, though they weren't able to see their own. Being only sixteen, he'd assume that he had a good 50+ years left, but there was also the possibility of him being fated to die from an accident or disease, which would cut his time short. He'd never know for sure, though, because they weren't allowed to tell someone what their countdown said, either. Well, it wasn't as if they _couldn't_, more like they _shouldn't_.

Telling someone what their countdown said would put them on edge. They'd know something they were never meant to know, and it was said that some people had gone insane after learning when they were meant to die. Alfred thought that was an overreaction, but he supposed he couldn't speak for everyone.

Some people tried to avoid the countdown. If they found out their time of death and they were meant to die from an accident, for instance, they would do whatever they could to make sure nothing was around that could kill them, such as staying at home in bed that day. That was messing with fate, and if a person didn't die when they were supposed to, someone else would die in their place. Usually, it'd be whoever was at fault for the death not happening; the person who had warned them. But by allowing someone else to die, they'd save themselves.

In some cases, fate could be changed without consequence. Diseases could be cured, and doctors were able to use the countdowns to their advantage, so they'd know if they were really successful in saving someone. Murders, suicides, and certain accidents could be prevented, as well. But sometimes, someone was just meant to die, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

It'd happened with his parents. When he was still young, no older than four, his mother's bus was supposed to crash and kill her. His father got in the way of that, and soon after, he died when he fell down a flight of stairs. It was a cruel system, but it was life.

Matthew's countdown had been as normal as it'd ever been, but Alfred was still worried. Sometimes, countdowns changed at the very last moment, making someone unable to be saved even if they could be. It was often the case with suicides. The death would happen, the only question was when.

"Alfred, kiddo, your shift's over. You can leave," he heard from behind him. The voice startled him out of his thoughts and he glanced over his shoulder to see his boss grinning at him from behind the counter. He'd probably noticed him doing nothing but staring out the window for the past few minutes but decided to go easy on him, as he always did when Alfred spaced out. Romulus Vargas was prone to zoning out occasionally himself, so he didn't blame his employees for it. Along with Alfred, Romulus' twin grandsons worked at the store, as well as some older girl he hadn't bothered to learn the name of.

He nodded at Romulus before leaning down to pick up the box he'd been unpacking, carrying it to the backroom for Romulus to dispose of later. He dropped his name tag in the little spot Romulus had reserved for his things, as he always forgot the small piece of plastic at home otherwise, grabbed his schoolbag, and made his way out of the store.

Now that he was out on the street he'd been staring at, he realised that it felt even gloomier than it'd looked from the comfort of the store. Puddles covered every inch of the sidewalk and road, and occasionally, a car rushed by and narrowly missed soaking him in mud and dirty water.

The rain pounded down on him, and it seemed that it wouldn't matter if a car splashed water all over him or not because in what felt like seconds, his hair was plastered around his face and his clothes clung to him like he'd just taken a shower in them anyway. He grumbled to himself as he made his way down the street, head ducked down to keep the water out of his face.

He reached the end of the street and paused as he waited for the light to turn red so the cars would stop. A few people stood near him: a horde of young adults and angry-looking businessmen, as well as a little old lady with just over a year left on her. He tapped his foot, then regretted the action when the muddy water somehow made its way into his shoe.

The cars slowed to a stop and everyone started across the street. Alfred walked at the back of the group, not caring to mix with the loud twenty-something year olds who were complaining about people walking too slowly. The light turned green again just about two seconds before he stepped onto the opposite sidewalk.

He pushed past people and continued walking, sticking close to the shops as though they'd somehow shield him from the rain. He cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella, as his mother always reminded him to. Well, at least she used to before her own depression took control of her life, but he liked to pretend that hadn't happened.

The walk home was relatively boring. It was the same thing he saw every single day, except perhaps weekends. Even on days he didn't work, it was the same route he took home from school. He passed the same stores, the same people, the same graffitied alleyway with the same abandoned box of items from "The Love Boutique" that people always complained about but never made a move to get rid of.

He appreciated the easy routine. He wouldn't have wanted to face something new every day, being constantly on guard. But at the same time, he wished for something to make the bland days a little more worthwhile. With nothing to look forward to, weeks blended into each other and before he knew it, they were five or six months into the year when he felt like it had only just begun.

Confident that his feet would take him home while his mind was elsewhere, Alfred forgot just where he was and tripped as he stepped off the curb, onto the street. He landed heavily in a deep puddle and thoroughly splashed water all over himself and whoever was unlucky enough to be walking near him.

"Sorry!" he immediately blurted to the older man just in front of him, who only sent him a nasty look over his shoulder in response and continued on. Other people, however, were not as willing to let the incident slide.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" an accented voice said from beside him. He lifted his gaze to be met with striking emerald eyes.

Alfred liked to give people chances, didn't want to judge based on appearance alone because he thought anything had the potential to be something beautiful. But eyes were the windows to the soul, weren't they? And when he looked into those eyes, he didn't see meadows or deep forests. He didn't see cat's eyes or fresh cut grass or even the sea. What Alfred saw was bitter. He saw acid. Venom. The colour of envy and jealousy, malevolence and spite. And he wondered how such a thing could ever be considered beautiful.

The boy was around his age, a bit shorter than him with windswept sandy-blond hair and skin pale like he'd never seen sunlight. He was dressed in a beige sweater with a dark purple jacket over top of it and matching plaid pants, now covered in muddy water thanks to him. To complete the look, he had a black tie tucked neatly beneath his sweater. Alfred quickly recognised the outfit to be the local private school's uniform. He also held a black umbrella in one hand and a schoolbag with the Union Jack on it in the other.

"Sorry, dude," Alfred apologised again. The guy continued to glare at him and Alfred stared back. They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments. "Um, I'm not sure what else you expect from me," Alfred finally said.

The Brit – Alfred decided he sounded like he was from London or something – shook his head and sighed. "Whatever," he said, brushing past him to go the opposite way. "Goodbye."

And that was it.

He absently looked back over to the boy as he disappeared further down the street, wondered if they could have been friends if he had paid a little more attention to what he was doing. Then his gaze trailed up, more on impulse than anything else, to the black numbers above his head. For a second, his breath got caught in his throat.

This kid was going to die in five minutes.

He wasn't sure what possessed him in that moment, but before he could even stop and think, he was tearing after the other blond. Perhaps it was just his conscience, some voice in the back of his mind screaming, "_this person in front of me is literally about to die and I wouldn't be able to sleep well ever again knowing I let that happen_". Or perhaps he just felt for the other boy. They couldn't have been that different. They were both just high schoolers with friends, _families_ that would be devastated. Maybe he had a girl he liked that he was planning to confess to. Maybe he already had. Point was, Alfred wouldn't have wanted to die at such a young age, when there was so much he hadn't done yet. And this boy didn't deserve that either.

He watched the numbers tick down all too quickly as he followed. Five minutes turned into four and fifteen seconds, then three and forty seconds. Finally, he was close enough to grasp the boy's shoulder, who tensed before turning and glaring at him again.

"God, what do you want?" he snapped. And Alfred wasn't all too sure of the answer to that. He couldn't just come out and say, 'look, I know we've only just met, and I know you're mad at me, but you're about to die and I can't let that happen', could he?

"Um," Alfred mumbled, then blurt out the first thing to come to mind. "Let me do something to apologise! You want a coffee or something?"

He didn't really want to get a coffee with the guy. He seemed cranky and like he hated his guts, even though what he did wasn't that big of a deal. But as he watched the numbers continue to fall, Alfred figured he could do it a million times over. As long as no one walked straight to their death while he continued to live with the knowledge of it. And perhaps in a way, that was selfish of him, but he liked to think that he was doing what was right.

"Or something," the boy said.

Alfred blinked owlishly. "What?"

He got an eye roll in response. "You said a coffee _or something_."

"Oh. What do you want then?"

"For you to piss off!" With that, he stormed off again. Alfred felt himself growing frustrated and a certain B-word danced on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. Couldn't the guy talk to him for two minutes without throwing a fuss? And the teachers at school had the nerve to call _him_ immature. He was persistent however and reached out to grab him again.

The boy managed to dodge him. "Leave me alone!" he shouted.

"Just wait a sec!" Alfred called after him. They were nearing the street he'd crossed earlier again. "Please wait!"

The boy stopped, much to Alfred's relief, and spun around to face him with an icy glare. "What the hell is your problem?" he demanded. "I told you to go away!"

Alfred opened his mouth to reply, but the words never got the chance to form. He heard the screeching tires before he saw the car. A split second later, it swerved around the corner, and Alfred pulled the boy toward him. He felt the car rush past them, narrowly missing, felt the force of it as it skid right in front of them. Had they been standing a mere inch from where they were, they would have been hit.

He saw from the corner of his eye as the car rammed into a pole, the hood wrapping around it grotesquely as the car continued to push forward, like the driver, obviously intoxicated, was planning on going straight through it. He heard glass shattering along with the sound of groaning metal.

He couldn't bring himself to really look, as if that'd make the situation any more real. He felt the rain and sweat on his body and his heart pounding in his chest. He felt the car barely brushing past him as it flew by. Despite the fact that it was done and over with now, the sensation remained, his skin crawling at the thought of what could have been.

No proper thoughts were able to form in his head. It was a never-ending mantra of _we're alive. We're alive. That could have taken us both out. But we're alive._ He wanted to feel relief, but he mostly just felt shock. It was true that he had set himself up and was in no place to complain, but that didn't stop the impending hysteria he already sensed forming in the back of his mind.

A small crowd soon began to form and he thought he heard sirens in the distance. He and the stranger he had nearly died with continued to stand frozen in place, unconsciously gripping each other tighter as though they were a lifeline. Alfred wanted to pull the other closer, bury his face in his neck and cry because _damn it, I was about to die for you!_ But he didn't. He couldn't move.

Instead, they let the rain fall around them and listened as a police car and ambulance came and went. The Brit had dropped his umbrella at some point, leaving the rain to soak them both, and as he felt his eyes sting, Alfred couldn't help but think it was funny. Even the sky was crying.

People approached them and asked what had happened, and if they were okay, but neither of them wanted to say anything past a few quiet mumbles. He wasn't sure they had the strength to.

He had looked up just long enough to see the boy's countdown once more, watched the numbers all fall to zero before they reset to a more appropriate time. It had made him wonder whether that meant that his own countdown had skipped forward a few decades.

He didn't know how long they stood there. It could have been a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. But eventually the boy pulled away from him, didn't meet his eyes as he choked out, "What have you done?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hey guys! So here I am with a new fic (after not updating for like forever..)! I know I still have His Favourite Mistake to work on. I'm sooo sorry I just lost interest in that for now. I'm pretty slow at updating but I will try my best with this one :c The next chapter is already finished and should be up in a couple of days and after that, I will do my best to update quickly but it is kind of difficult with school and all that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review! :D<strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

They'd ended up getting that coffee after all.

Well, Alfred had gotten coffee. The stranger Alfred had quite possibly just given his life for had gotten tea, which made Alfred laugh and say he was a living, breathing stereotype. The stranger had slapped his arm at that and said that he wasn't much better.

But they weren't strangers anymore, were they? His name was Arthur Kirkland, he was seventeen, a year older than Alfred, and he was indeed, from London. He went to Alfred's rival school, where he was student council president. He had a fairly average life, he'd said. Until Alfred barged in and ruined it.

"So..." Arthur murmured, staring over the rim of his cup and into the dark liquid within. They were seated at a small table of some café Alfred had led them to. It was still raining, the drops streaming down the large window beside them.

"So..." Alfred repeated, slouching over his own cup as he stared at the window, mentally betting on which raindrop was going to win the race to the bottom.

"What now?"

He could feel Arthur's gaze on him now, but something kept him from looking back. Maybe it was that cold stare. Or maybe he just didn't want to face reality. He'd always been good at that, hadn't he?

"Well," Alfred said, frowning when another raindrop suddenly sped up and reached the bottom before the one he'd been rooting for did. "How about you go home, take a hot shower or something. Maybe wash those pants I got mud all over. Then tomorrow you'll go to school, live your life as normal. Forget any of this ever happened."

"And what about you?" Arthur demanded. "You're just going to, what? Die now?"

He wanted to flinch at how blunt Arthur was being. "I'll handle whatever the universe throws at me," he said. He finally looked over to Arthur, but couldn't stop his gaze from wandering up to his countdown again. He'd saved Arthur. He'd watched his countdown turn to zero and then reset. But at some point after they'd arrived at the café, it'd gone back down. He felt an odd sense of betrayal. It wasn't like he could blame Arthur, but there had to be someone, something to blame. He'd risked his life, and it was all for nothing, because as it turned out Arthur only had two days left anyway.

"Right," Arthur said. He looked back at his tea. "Right."

"I will, don't you worry," Alfred said. "Staying alive can't be that hard. If all else fails, I'll just never leave my house again."

"Don't joke about this," Arthur murmured. "Honestly, I can't believe you. You should've just kept your nose out of other people's business and none of this would be happening right now."

"And let you die?" Alfred asked, eyebrows furrowing. "You really expect me to have let that happen?"

"Yes!" Arthur exclaimed, and their eyes met for possibly the first time since they reached the café. "Do you even realise what's happening, you idiot? You've just signed a contract to your death!"

Alfred huffed, leant back into the seat and crossed his arms. "You could at least be a little more grateful I saved your life," he continued stubbornly.

"You're so self-centred!" Arthur spat. "This is all about you. Little Alfred couldn't handle that sometimes, people die. Just had to go and get in the way of fate. Well there's no going back now and you're going to have to pay for it! Welcome to the real world, arsehole."

"What exactly are you so pissed about?" Alfred felt himself growing angry now. If you asked him, what he'd done was courageous and selfless. Who was this guy to criticise him? "If you don't like this so much then like I said, forget it! Whatever ends up happening to me will happen and you won't even know it."

Arthur scowled. "How do you expect me to forget that someone is going to die now because he was stupid enough to think he could save me? Give it a few days and-" his eyes suddenly widened and he cut himself off.

Alfred decided to ignore what Arthur had said about him being stupid, but he couldn't help but wonder: did he not think he could be saved? "What was that? A few days and what?"

"A few days and you'll be dead," Arthur said quickly, and Alfred had a feeling that he wasn't telling the truth. "How am I supposed to live the rest of this week knowing that anyone of those days could be the day a certain idiot dies?"

"Pretty hypocritical of you to say that. That's pretty much what I thought when I saw you on the street. Sounds to me like we're in the same situation."

Arthur shook his head. "No, we are not. You pass people who are going to die soon every single day and don't do anything about it. I was just one of those people. Now all this is happening because you couldn't let life continue on as normal."

Alfred groaned. "Just forget it, okay? Arguing about who's to blame won't change anything, so why don't you just drop it?" He wanted to say something that would make Arthur really shut up. The Brit was clenching his fists in frustration, and Alfred knew that he hadn't been swayed in the slightest and still fully blamed him. _If you're so worried about how you're going to go on about your life now, maybe you'd feel better knowing you'll die in two days anyway? You might even die before me._ Alfred could go and tell Arthur about his countdown. It wasn't as if he could get into any more trouble than he was already in. _Maybe it'll show you not to take these things for granted._

_ ... But that's not what I really want, is it?_

He buried his face in his hands and let out a long, shuddering breath. He could feel a headache coming on. Was he just implying that Arthur deserved to die now just because he hadn't been as thankful as Alfred thought he'd be?

_I really am selfish._

"H-Hey," Arthur murmured, voice softer than before. "Are you crying?"

No. He wasn't crying.

"Don't cry. Look, this is a lot to take in, okay? If I.. hurt your feelings or something, I-I didn't mean it."

Why did that matter now? Why did it take Alfred crying to make Arthur realise what he was saying?

"I'm-"

Alfred whipped his head up, glaring. "You're _what?_ Sorry?" he questioned as Arthur stared at him wide-eyed, surprised at his outburst. "Sorry isn't going to make any of this better."

Arthur frowned. "Well look who's had a change of heart. Just minutes ago you were so sure that this wasn't that bad."

"I never said it wasn't bad, I just said it wasn't your problem. And it's not."

Alfred looked back to the rain on the window. He didn't want to think Arthur had a point, wanted to continue believing he'd done the right thing, but it was finally beginning to dawn on him just how serious this was. It was life or death, not life and possible-mildly-inconveniencing-consequences, or something. And by choosing life for Arthur, he'd chosen death for himself. Why couldn't he ever think before he leapt?

It was like going into a store, seeing something you like and deciding you're going to buy it. But then you look at the price tag and think, 'no way'. Except Alfred had burst into that store, smashed the merchandise with a baseball bat, and now the clerk was telling him to pay before he called the cops.

"Don't ruin this for me," Alfred said quietly. "Don't make me regret this. If I'm going to die then at least let me die thinking it was for the best. It's done and I can't take it back, so you can stop making me feel like shit now, okay?"

He heard Arthur let out a sigh and from the corner of his eye saw him nod.

His coffee was cold now, not that he even wanted it anymore. He closed the Styrofoam cup, stood, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. Arthur did the same.

They exited the café in silence. Alfred turned to Arthur.

"So uh, I guess I'll see you around, then? Maybe?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

He looked once more at the Brit's countdown and felt a surge of anger. Two days. All that trouble and he still only had two days.

"Take care."

"You too, Alfred."

* * *

><p>He pushed open the door to his house and stepped inside, grateful for the warmth that immediately hit him. He'd managed to dry off somewhat at the café, but on his way home the rain soaked him all over again.<p>

He shivered as he kicked his shoes off and decided that the first thing he was going to do was change into something dry and comfortable. Maybe he'd put on his pyjamas and go straight to bed, even though it wasn't even 8pm yet. It was okay though. He probably wouldn't be getting much sleep that night anyway.

He was wishing that none of this was real, that he hadn't just traded his own life for Arthur's. Of course, that didn't mean he wanted Arthur to die – Alfred just didn't want to die either. If he could lie in bed for the rest of eternity, blissfully unaware of all the troubles of the real world, he would.

Alfred walked past the kitchen on his way to the stairs, but slowed to a stop when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Matthew was in the kitchen, and he quickly turned as if he felt Alfred's eyes on him. Alfred, who was about to ask his brother if he was making dinner, felt the words catch in his throat.

Matthew's eyes were slightly red and puffy as if he'd been crying some time ago. They widened when he spotted Alfred, who smiled unsurely.

"What's up, bro? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"A-Alfred, you…" Matthew didn't bother trying to finish what he was going to say. He just stared.

"I stopped by a café. That's why I was home late," Alfred said, simply for the sake of saying something. He knew Matthew didn't care. He went out with friends after work often enough that being home late was nothing unusual.

"Oh," Matthew said. "Anything.. different happen?"

"No," Alfred told him.

Matthew looked like he didn't believe him. His gaze briefly flitted up somewhere above Alfred's head, and Alfred pretended he didn't notice, occupying himself with playing with some letter on a table near him. _My countdown_, he thought. So he was right. It had gone down after he'd saved Arthur.

"I wish you wouldn't lie," Matthew said so quietly it was practically a whisper. Then he pushed past his brother and quickly left the kitchen, heading off to his room. Alfred remained where he was standing, staring at the letter in his hand. It was addressed to his mom, from the power company. A warning that if she didn't pay the bills soon, they'd shut the electricity off.

He felt his eyes sting, but he did not cry.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hey! Sorry for the long wait. School has been hectic this past month and this is like the first day all month that I don't have homework ;o; About a week ago I had this project to make a children's storybook about evolution. Holy shit I worked on that thing literally every waking moment all weekend. It was horrible. (I posted it on Tumblr and it got nearly 400 notes though holy shit. As someone whose previous record is about 60, this is a big deal okay). So yeah. I'm happy about that :D<strong>_

_**I hope this chapter was interesting. Unfortunately it's not as long as the last one, but hey at least it's better than nothing!**_

_**Please review :D**_


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, he was woken up a few minutes before his alarm was meant to go off.

He could hear someone stumbling around downstairs; his mother, most likely. Which also meant that she'd finally come home after three days with no sight of her. He could hear her heavy footsteps and closing doors and occasionally, something being knocked to the ground. She was probably drunk.

Alfred yawned and glanced over at his alarm clock: it was 6:53am. He shut off the alarm and dragged himself out of bed, walking over to his closet. He pulled out a random pair of jeans, socks, a t-shirt, and his favourite bomber jacket before leaving the room and making his way over to the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth, got dressed, and tried to tame his bedhead. By the time he was done, about fifteen minutes has passed and he still had nearly an hour before he had to go to school. He went back to his room and sorted out his schoolbag, making sure he had everything he needed and that there wasn't some assignment he'd totally forgotten about. Really, he was just wasting time. He wasn't the type to fret too much about a missing pencil or a late project.

Eventually, he had to go downstairs and get breakfast. He found himself secretly hoping that his mother would be passed out on a couch somewhere. He wasn't sure he could handle talking to her.

The first thing he did when he got in the kitchen was make coffee. He was exhausted and was sure he'd lain in bed for at least three hours before he finally fell asleep. _I saved Arthur yesterday_. He'd nearly forgotten. When he woke up that morning he was almost able to convince himself that it had all just been a bad dream. _I'm going to die soon._

Suddenly he didn't feel very hungry. His chest felt tight and he almost wanted to cry again. Was there even a point in going to school anymore?

He downed his cup of coffee, then another, until he was sure it was coffee running through his veins and not blood. He was about to fill his cup a third time when there was a presence in the doorway.

"Alfie?" his mother said tiredly. "You're here?"

"Um," he looked at her. Her hair was greyer and thinner than it should have been and she had dark bags under her eyes, the lines covering her face like a roadmap of time. She looked older than her age. "Yeah..?"

She just stared at him, a sad look in her dulled eyes. "Don't leave," she said pleadingly, then walked away.

* * *

><p>When he walked into his first period class, Gilbert, his friend who he sat beside, watched him with an unreadable expression as he made his way to his seat. Alfred ungracefully fell into his chair and dumped his binder on the desk with a loud thump, drawing the attention of the few who were in the room. Gilbert didn't immediately start a conversation like he normally would.<p>

The late bell soon rang, and the teacher started taking attendance as a few stragglers trickled into the classroom and tried to slip into their seats unnoticed, as if they'd been there the entire time and were not late.

"Vash?" the teacher, a tall man with a stubble, called the last name on the list.

"Here."

Mr. Smith glanced over the attendance quickly, then absently asked, "Anyone I missed?" already folding up the attendance, like he knew the answer was going to be no.

"Me," Alfred said.

All eyes turned to him. The teacher looked up in surprise, his mouth open like he was going to say something, but he didn't. He just fixed the attendance and started class.

He looked over to Gilbert, planning on saying something, anything to make this day feel just a little bit more normal, but he didn't know what. He couldn't tell Gilbert what had happened the previous day, could he? How do you tell your best friend you've screwed up and are going to be dead in a few days?

"I know I'm hot, but you don't need to stare at me," the white-haired boy said.

Alfred wanted to laugh, but he found that he couldn't. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

Gilbert's expression softened. After a moment, he said, "Are you okay?"

Alfred blinked. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just… Nothing. Never mind."

The rest of the day went by like that, dancing around each other. Alfred had a feeling that Gilbert wanted to ask about his countdown but didn't know how to, didn't know if it was a good idea to do so in the first place. Gilbert didn't know about Alfred's sacrifice. He probably thought that if he mentioned Alfred's countdown, he'd be next in line to die.

_Should I bring it up then?_

Alfred needed someone to talk to. He didn't want to leave everything bottled up inside, for he didn't know how much time he had left, and after he was gone, he didn't want to leave everyone wondering _why?_

So far the only person who knew was Arthur, but Alfred didn't know when – or _if_ – he'd see him again. He didn't want to worry Matthew, and he sure as hell couldn't tell his mother. That really only left his best friend.

"Gil," Alfred said at lunch. They were outside, walking around the school's campus. The grass was a lush green and the trees stood proud and tall, the little sunlight they had dappling through the leaves and leaving golden patches on the ground below. Flowerbeds lay here and there in disarray, filled with mismatched flowers like random patchwork, but it had a sort of charm to it, the perfect mess. It might have been a very nice sight if not for the grey and darkening sky; black clouds were quickly moving in. It would rain soon.

"Yeah?" Gilbert asked absentmindedly, texting someone on his phone.

Alfred fumbled for the right thing to say. "Um, you know how I've gotten myself into some deep shit before, right?"

"And then I had to come along and save your ass."

"Haha, yeah," Alfred said, but he found nothing funny about it. "Like when I pissed off those bikers downtown."

"Or when you broke into Mrs. B's class to steal back your assignment after you gave her the wrong thing, then got locked in there."

Alfred smiled sadly. "I got myself into the deepest shit yet."

Gilbert pocketed his phone and looked up at him with something that was a mixture of fear and knowing. "What did you do?"

"I stopped someone's death yesterday."

The albino's red eyes widened. "You're kidding. _Tell me you're kidding_."

Alfred shook his head.

Suddenly Gilbert stepped in front of him, stopping him in his walk, and roughly grabbed onto his shoulders. "Alfred F. Jones you can't be fucking serious!" he exclaimed, shaking him. "You… You _can't_!"

"G-Gilbert, calm down," Alfred said shakily, lightly pushing his friend back. For a moment Gilbert's hold tightened, and then he slowly let go.

"I'm not kidding," Alfred said.

"You're going to fucking _die_."

"I know."

Gilbert took in a deep breath to try to calm down, but it didn't work. He clenched his fists in frustration. "You're a fucking idiot, do you know _that_?"

Alfred stared down at his feet. "I think I've been yelled at enough already, Gilbert. Trust me. The dude I saved was hella pissed."

"Well at least he has some common sense," Gilbert huffed. "Wait – you knew him, right?"

"Umm…"

"Alfred."

"Okay no!" Alfred admitted. "It was some random guy I saw. And before you yell at me more, yes I know what I did was stupid and there's no way out of it now."

Gilbert shook his head. "I can't believe you. My best friend's gonna fucking die."

Alfred frowned. "I know it's a lot to take in but… don't be mad."

"Right, my bad," Gilbert said, rolling his eyes. "This is fucking great. Best news I heard in my life."

"I don't mean it like that…" Alfred said. "Just… I've basically lost everything at this point. I don't want to die knowing you're angry at me."

Gilbert sighed. "Yeah. Sorry."

Alfred tried to smile. "Besides, I think we can get through this. You really think I'm gonna let death take me that easily?"

"Nah, 'course not. You're Alfred F. Jones. Everyone knows you like to make things harder than they need to be," Gilbert laughed.

It was the saddest sound Alfred ever heard.

Laughter is usually one of the first things on the list when you think of _The Best Things in Life_, but Alfred thought that whoever it was that decided laughter was a happy sound obviously hadn't heard their best friend of ten year's voice break as they tried to joke their way around your inevitable death. Anything to ease the pain, to make the situation just a little bit easier to handle. Even as the light in their eyes dimmed slightly and their heart threatened to break.

When they were younger, they liked to say they were soul mates. Not in a romantic way, but in a best friends way, because you didn't need to be in love with someone in order for them to be your soul mate. You just needed to understand each other in a way that no one else could, to feel as though your hearts beat as one.

And in that moment, Alfred felt a crack burst in his heart, and soon the whole thing was splintering, spiderwebbing. Another small push and it'd all fall apart.

Normally in moments like this one, Gilbert would be there to lend a hand and help Alfred back on his feet, and Alfred knew that if Gilbert could be strong, then he could be, too.

But what were they supposed to do when they were both on the ground, reaching up for help with no one there to pick them back up?

On the walk home after school, Gilbert said, "You know, right now you got a little more than a day left."

Alfred sighed. They passed the street where just yesterday, he and Arthur had nearly been killed by a drunken driver. He saw the pole the car had rammed into. It was bent now, and he couldn't help but shudder. If you'd told him 24 hours ago that he was going to get in the way of someone's fated time of death, and therefore, soon die himself, he would have laughed.

"Yeah, I figured it'd be something like that."

Gilbert stared at the road ahead, his hands in his pockets. They walked past the graffitied alleyway Alfred saw every day and suddenly he remembered how last time he'd seen it, he'd been wishing for something new to spice up his life, something to keep the days from blending into one another. It felt like so much time had passed since that moment. He no longer wished for that.

"So… tomorrow afternoon?" Gilbert murmured.

"I guess."

"Are you gonna come to school?"

Alfred shrugged. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I mean, I guess the obvious thing to do would be to stay home. Why go to class if I'm gonna die soon after anyway? Plus if I stay home then there's the chance nothing will be around to kill me."

Gilbert nodded.

"But at the same time, is there even a point in running? I'll die sooner or later, so what's the point in stalling?"

"Don't think like that," Gilbert said. "Have hope."

"But-"

"No buts," Gilbert glared at him. "_Everyone's _gonna die some day, but that doesn't mean we all live our lives doing nothing just 'cause we're gonna die one day anyway. There's still stuff to look forward to, and you may as well make the best of it while you're still here. Don't worry about tomorrow while you still have today."

Alfred chuckled. "Wow, Gilbert. Poetic."

"I guess Francis is rubbing off on me."

"Ew."

Gilbert's face reddened. "Not like that, perv!"

With that, the air considerably lightened around them, and they made their way home joking and laughing, just as they would have before any of this had happened.

Of course, there was still that gnawing thought at the back of Alfred's mind, even as he tried to ignore it.

_Nothing will ever be the same again._

* * *

><p><strong><em>I'm gonna start writing these things in class as well as at home so hopefully I'll be able to update all my fics pretty quickly now :p<em>**

**_Please review!_**


	4. Chapter 4

"You know," Gilbert said, "everyone was pretty shocked when you came to school."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed," Alfred said. He pulled out his phone and clicked on the calculator app. _God, I hate trigonometry._

"Both yesterday and today. They weren't expecting to see you."

He wrote down the answer to the problem on the sheet, then realised he'd answered the question wrong. "God dammit."

"They thought you were going to kill yourself."

Alfred's head snapped up and he stared at Gilbert in shock. "What?"

Gilbert fumbled with his pencil. "They still do."

"_Why?_"

The albino let out a sigh. "People usually don't die this young, Al, what else is everyone supposed to think? And now your countdown's just been extended by a couple days. That's only supposed to happen with people who are planning to commit suicide."

"Wait-" Alfred said, his mind not able to keep up with everything Gilbert was now telling him. "_Extended?_ And everyone thought I was going to kill myself before I went and actually screwed things up?"

Gilbert gave him an odd look, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, you didn't know?"

"Gil, as far as I know my countdown was perfectly normal until I went and saved someone, and then it dropped down."

Gilbert shook his head. "Uh, no, actually…"

"What?" Alfred demanded. By now he had completely abandoned his math and was facing Gilbert fully. There was more to this situation than he'd originally thought?

"I don't know how to put this…"

"Just spit it out!"

Gilbert shifted uncomfortably. "Ever since the day I met you, your countdown's been set for last Tuesday."

Alfred thought he might just die right at that moment from shock. "Last Tuesday, when I went and saved Arthur? I was supposed to die then?"

Gilbert looked confused at the name, and Alfred realised that he'd never actually told it to Gilbert before. "Um, yeah, I guess."

"But that's impossible," Alfred said. "The only reason I went _after_ Arthur was to save him. And if I was fated to die that day, that means I was fated to go after him."

Gilbert shrugged. "Yeah?"

But Alfred wasn't about to brush this off as easily as Gilbert seemed to be doing. "That doesn't _make sense_! The whole _point_ of this is that you're not allowed to save people! It's what got me into this mess in the first place! It couldn't have been fate that I went and saved him!"

"What other explanation do you have, Alfred?" Gilbert asked. "I'll admit it's weird, but it seems like it's true."

"It can't be," Alfred said. "It just can't. Fate is cruel. It doesn't want you to save people. Why would fate want me to save Arthur?"

Gilbert looked like he wanted to just let the conversation drop, and Alfred figured he should. After all, he was supposed to die later that day anyway, so what was the point in wondering why?

He sighed. He was about to just turn back to his math worksheet and leave his questions for another day – _or not_ – when suddenly a thought hit him, and a series of events rushed through his mind like he was watching the previous day on a TV screen.

_Arthur scowled. "How do you expect me to forget that someone is going to die now because he was stupid enough to think he could save me? Give it a few days and-" his eyes suddenly widened and he cut himself off._

At the time, Alfred had found it strange that Arthur had said he couldn't be saved, but now he was thinking there was something else to it. And what had he meant by _a few days_? Alfred had thought Arthur was talking about him, but now he wondered…

_"A few days and you'll be dead," Arthur said quickly, and Alfred had a feeling that he wasn't telling the truth._

When he had first said _a few days_, he was talking about _Alfred_.. right?

_He looked once more at the Brit's countdown and felt a surge of anger. Two days. All that trouble and he still only had two days._

Gilbert had told him the previous day that he had a little over a day left on his countdown, and if his calculations were correct, that meant that after saving Arthur his countdown had said…

Two days.

"_Fuck!_"

* * *

><p>Back in middle school, Alfred had a teacher that liked to say he would be serving detention until the day he died. Funny how true that turned out to be.<p>

After serving a short after-school detention because Mr. Smith had heard him "spewing profanities", Alfred dashed home. He sent a quick text to Feliciano, one of Romulus' grandsons, asking him to tell his grandfather that he couldn't make it into work that day.

As he ran, he thought back to the previous Tuesday. He finished work at 6pm, and he ran into Arthur a short while into his walk home, so probably somewhere between 6:15 and 6:20. If he – and Arthur – were scheduled to die two days after that, then they would die around that time today.

They had less than three and a half hours.

What was he supposed to do? He didn't have Arthur's number, so he couldn't text or call him, and he had no idea where he lived. It'd be impossible to find him.

But, he supposed, if this really was some game fate was playing, then he and Arthur would somehow find each other anyway.

He burst into his house, not even bothering to take off his shoes as he ran past the kitchen and went upstairs to his room. Once there, he dumped his schoolbag on the floor, then froze.

What was he doing?

He slowly walked over to the mirror by his closet and took a long look at himself. His dirty-blond hair was disheveled, his glasses crooked, and his blue eyes wild. He looked crazy.

He took in a long, shuddering breath, fixed his glasses, and attempted to fix his hair. Then he walked over to his desk and sat down in the chair, letting it slowly spin as he thought. When he had his mind made up, he found a random piece of paper and a pen and began to write.

_Dear Mom and Matthew,_

_You both probably think I killed myself. I'd like to start out by saying that no. I didn't._

_My countdown's probably been kinda wonky the past couple days. Gilbert told me about it. I realize now why you were crying in the kitchen that day, Mattie. You didn't expect me to come home that day, but I did. And honestly, I don't know why. I was supposed to die that day. But somehow I didn't._

_And Mom, when you were drunk yesterday, you were surprised to find me in the kitchen. You thought I'd be dead, too._

_And I'm sure you've both seen my countdown after that, now set to reach zero at 6:something today._

_Again: I'm not planning to kill myself or anything like that, so don't blame yourselves for my death. I don't know what's happening or why. Last Tuesday, I was almost hit by a car, but it missed. Weird, right? Today'll probably be something like that._

_I don't think I'll come home tonight. But I want you to know that I love you both. And if I do die, don't worry too much. Keep living your lives as normal. I don't want to drag you down._

_Love,_

_Alfred._

He stared at the letter in his shaking hands. Never would he have thought that he'd need to write such a letter.

He left it on his bed. No one usually came in his room, but if he failed to come home, then someone would surely come in to search for clues. They would find it.

Then he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

It was 4pm.

Half an hour later, he was heading down a street that was unfamiliar to him.

He remembered Arthur saying that he went to the private school, and he was student council president there. Alfred knew he was pushing his luck, but he hoped that meant Arthur would still be at school. Maybe he had a meeting or some other student council-related business. How long did such things last?

Alfred ended school at 2:30, so Arthur probably ended somewhere around that time as well. Could he still be there two hours later?

It was the only place Alfred knew to look. He hadn't the slightest clue where Arthur lived and he doubted he would come back to the place of the car accident, so the private school was his best bet.

The building was large and old-looking. He immediately felt that it put his own school to shame.

The school seemed to have been inspired by Victorian architecture... Unless it was actually _from_ that time, that is. It was intricate, multi-faceted, like a jewel, a burnt umber colour, deep red-brown, with a black roof. The roof was high and steep, except for directly above the main doors, where there was a steeple. The windows looked like they were lacking the iron bars of a prison.

The whole property was surrounded by a black iron fence, with an enormous gate in front. _Ominous_ wasn't normally a word Alfred would use to describe a school, but…

If only it were storming and the sky was streaked with lightning. Then the scene would be perfect for a horror movie.

He walked through the gate and could have sworn the temperature dropped a few degrees. He wasn't _trespassing_, right?

God, he hoped he'd find Arthur soon.

The parking lot was still filled with a few cars, so obviously the school wasn't empty. He approached the double doors and wondered if he should just walk in, but what would he do then? Just wander around the school hoping he'd run into Arthur? With how large the school was, that could take ages.

He pulled open one of the doors. It was heavy and creaked loudly, and he was afraid someone would hear it, but no one showed up to yell at him. So, he entered the grim building and looked around.

He was in a large, open area. Two stairways stood on either side of the room, and upstairs he could see a balcony overhanging the room he was in. There was a showcase upstairs, like the kind he had at his own school, showing off trophies and other awards. The walls were covered with certificates and creepy portraits of headmasters and other important people Alfred really didn't care about. The eyes seemed to follow him.

Off to the right side of the large space he was in, Alfred could see hallways filled with lockers, and off to the left side there was a cafeteria. Where were the classrooms?

He slowly made his way upstairs. Despite how old they looked, they did not creak like he expected them to. Once he was on the second floor, he noticed there was a sign beside the showcase.

_Administration to left._

Well, he certainly didn't want to run into a principal or teacher, so that was out of the question.

He headed right instead. The classrooms had to be this way.

He found more lockers, but luckily, not as many as he'd seen downstairs. The area was dotted with doors, as well. They had to be the classrooms.

But what was he supposed to do now that he was here? He couldn't just go around and look in every class. He had no idea who could be in there.

Alfred had to admit that he hadn't planned this out too well. Okay, so he was in Arthur's school. Alone. And even though he'd found the classrooms, all the doors looked exactly the same, with nothing but a room number to differentiate them. Any one of them could be the student council room. Or a lab where he would be dissected if someone caught him.

He started down the hall, staring at each door as if the answers to all his questions would magically appear. But of course, they didn't. He had no idea where he was.

One of the doors was open, and, peering inside, he was able to see what appeared to be a chemistry class. Well, student council definitely wouldn't be held in there.

Alfred continued in his search, but found nothing.

With a sigh, he made his way back to the showcase, then went downstairs. Next, he went to the right side of the building, where he'd seen the halls of lockers before. If he was lucky then there would be classes here too.

There were. Not as many as upstairs, but it was better than nothing. He considered peeking into the classrooms: after all, just walking by all the closed doors wouldn't help him in his search. But he didn't want to risk walking in on something. Honestly, he was just wishing he'd run into Arthur in the hall.

As he reached the end of it, he saw some bathrooms, and nothing else. Dead end. With another sigh, Alfred was about to turn back when he heard high heels clacking loudly behind him.

"Young man, where is your uniform?" a posh voice asked.

He slowly turned around, hoping the horror wasn't _too_ obvious on his face, and found himself facing an old woman. Her hair was a deep red, obviously dyed as he could see some white hairs showing through, and a thick pair of glasses with cords hanging off the sides sat perched on the bridge of her nose. She had a mole above her upper lip that Alfred suspected was painted on. People this… _snobby_ didn't really exist, did they?

"Umm," he mumbled. "My uniform?"

"Yes," she said, in a no-nonsense sort of way.

"Oh! Right! My unifoooorm…" he chuckled sheepishly, and the woman's frown deepened. "Well, you see, I went home and took it off. But then I remembered I forgot something. So I just ran back in to get it." He hoped she would believe the lie.

She regarded him for a moment longer, and Alfred was afraid she was going to call him out on it, but then she began to turn away. "You are lucky it's after school hours. And that I am too busy to deal with you right now," she said, staring down her nose at him.

"Haha, I sure am," he said, then after a moment blurt out, "Hey, where's the student council room?"

The woman, who was about to walk away, paused and gave him an odd look. "You're not part of student council," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know, but my friend is so…"

She looked like she didn't believe him, glaring daggers. "Who is this friend of yours?"

"Arthur Kirkland," he told her.

The woman looked surprised. _Gotcha_, he thought.

"I have no idea what a nice young man like him is doing with the likes of you," she said haughtily, giving him a look as cold as ice. Alfred could tell she was judging his messy appearance. "But if you insist, then it is room 203 upstairs."

"Alright, thanks!" he said, brushing past the woman to head back upstairs. He heard her muttering something under her breath as he walked away.

He soon found 203, lightly knocking on the door just in case. There was no answer, so he tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. Making his way into the room, he found that it was actually rather plain compared to the outside of the school.

A deep red carpet covered the floor, and at the far end of the room there was a desk set in front of a large window. _Arthur's desk_. It was covered in papers and a laptop sat in the only clean spot on the desk.

He walked over to it, glancing over the papers curiously, but there was nothing he really understood. Club budgets, fundraiser plans, even what looked like an abandoned English essay.

He spotted something on the floor under the desk. Arthur must have dropped it without realising. It looked like a photograph. He picked it up.

It was a family photo.

He quickly found Arthur, several years younger, surrounded by seven other people. His parents and siblings? The blonde, green-eyed woman in the back was definitely his mother. They looked alike. She held a little kid with blond hair and blue eyes.

A brown-haired, blue-eyed boy stood on the right side of Arthur, and beside him, a pair of redheaded, green-eyed twins, a boy and a girl.

There were two others. From what he could tell, it was a man beside Arthur's mother. His father, most likely, as well as a male with fire truck-red hair standing by Arthur's left side. But he couldn't see them well enough to really tell who they were. Their faces were scratched out.

They were scribbled over with a black pen. It looked like at some point, someone tried to undo the damage and wash it off, but that only succeeded in washing out the colours.

He turned the photograph over. There was a date on the back. 24-06-07.

He put the photo on the desk, not sure what else to do with it. It wasn't like Arthur would be needing it anymore, and he had no reason to keep it.

There were two small circular tables in the middle of the room, each with four chairs. They were both scattered with pages and photos. Upon closer inspection, Alfred found that it was an unfinished design for a yearbook.

The left wall was lined with computers, all of them off except for one, which had Photoshop open with a crudely edited photo of the woman he'd seen earlier. _Jesus. _Her eyes were black and blood ran from her nose, and there was a pentagram on her forehead. _Maybe she's the headmaster_.

But in terms of people, the room was empty, and it didn't seem like anyone would be coming back soon.

He forlornly left the room, then the school.

Arthur wasn't there. How would Alfred find him now?

He glanced at his watch as he turned down a random street. It was nearly 5:30. He'd wasted an hour. Less than one more hour left until he was scheduled to die.

He found that thinking about it now was a lot easier than it had been Tuesday night. It wasn't that he accepted it – no, he was _terrified_. It was just that it didn't feel real. Walking down that street, thinking _I have less than an hour left to live_, well, it was surreal, like he was in a dream.

He knew that it was all real. Too real. Gilbert had confirmed what his countdown said, he'd left a note for his family, and he knew Arthur wasn't some figment of his imagination. It had all happened, yet the true severity of the issue still failed to weigh down on him. It was as if he was in denial. _This wouldn't happen to me. Maybe to someone else, but not to me._

It was the sort of situation you heard about in the news, or something your ear happens to catch as friends whisper it to each other. _Yes, it happens, but not to me._

_Never to me._

He looked around at his surroundings. He was getting closer downtown. The buildings were more modern around here than the other parts of the city. Despite the fact that it wasn't that long a walk, it was like heading into another world.

Skyscrapers soon towered above him, the glass reflecting the blue sky and few white clouds. He walked past offices, Starbucks, and so many food places he couldn't have counted them if he tried.

He paused at a crosswalk as cars rushed by and took a moment to really look around. People trailed down the sidewalk like worker ants; everyone had something to do and somewhere to be. Perhaps if he let himself get lost among the crowd he too could be like them. Let the current carry him away wherever it did.

But no, he couldn't do that.

There was a park and a large river nearby, and in the distance behind them he could see a grand hotel, surrounded by many other beautiful old buildings. The sun hung above them. Soon it would set.

He remembered the sunsets here were beautiful. The sun would fall behind the hotel, leaving it a dark, foreboding silhouette on the horizon as the sky above it erupted into flame.

He wouldn't have time to see the sun set once more.

But it was strange to think that it would. The sun would set, and tomorrow it would rise. The Earth would keep spinning. Life would continue on without him.

Someone said "Go!" behind him and he quickly started across the street. He hadn't realised the cars had stopped.

He turned down a street filled with glass buildings. The skyscrapers seemed to fade into the sky like they went up forever.

He saw his reflection in a window beside him. He looked just like everyone else, heading off to some unknown destination. Only difference was, his destination was unknown even to him.

Alfred kept walking until his phone started to violently buzz in his pocket.

**From: Gil  
>6:08pm<br>please tell me ur at home**

**From: Gil  
>6:08pm<br>i couldnt catch u after school but oh god ur at home arent u?**

**From: Gil  
>6:08pm<br>go somewhere safe**

**From: Gil  
>6:08pm<br>dont die**

**From: Gil  
>6:09pm<br>DAMMIT ALFRED!**

There were only a few minutes left.

He froze and looked around in panic. People grumbled curses and made their way around him, but he paid them no notice. Where was the danger?

The again, the car had showed up at the last second. He probably wouldn't see _this_ until it was too late.

He fumbled with his phone, hands shaking. No. This couldn't be the end. It couldn't. There was still so much he needed to do. A letter wasn't enough.

Should he text his mom? His brother? Gilbert? They deserved paragraphs upon paragraphs that he didn't have time to write.

**To: Gil  
>6:12pm<br>im downtown its k nothing happened yet dont worry pls**

**To: Gil  
>6:13pm<br>oh god im so scared gil**

**From: Gil  
>6:13pm<br>fucking run home or get somewhere completely safe!**

**From: Gil  
>6:13pm<br>stay away from roads and do NOT get in a bus/taxi**

"Hey, kid!" He jumped at the voice and looked up to see a man in a suit. "Don't stand in the middle of the sidewalk!"

"S-Sorry…"

"Heh, what's with that look, kid? You're white as a sheet."

**To: Gil  
>6:16pm<br>gil idk how much time i have left but i wanna say ur my best friend the best i couldve asked for and i am so so thankful for that i shouldve stayed home im sor**

"Watch out!" someone screamed. The voice seemed to come from above.

He accidentally hit enter, sending the text mid-word, but didn't notice as he glanced about madly for the source of the voice. He heard blood pounding in his ears and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, thrumming wildly like the wings of a caged bird. He wanted to run, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. It was like his brain and body couldn't keep up with each other.

"Alfred!"

Suddenly his arm was grabbed and he was tugged harshly away, dropping his phone as he and the other person stumbled back. In his shock, he wasn't able to focus on running and they tripped over each other, landing roughly on the ground. Pain shot up his back and he felt his palms sting as they scraped the sidewalk.

He was hardly able to register that it was Arthur beside him. "Thought I'd return the favour," he barely had time to say, before glass exploded around them.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Me: *vaguely and badly describes Ottawa* B)<em>**

**_This is the longest chapter yet :00_**

**_Please review!_**


	5. Chapter 5

Shards burst in every direction like welding sparks. Arthur pulled on his arm again, dragging them away from the explosion of glass. He quickly shielded his face with his other arm and felt tiny splinters of glass pierce his skin.

They stumbled away, and in a few seconds, it all seemed to be over. He slowly lowered his arm from his face and saw that it was dotted with blood and glass. A quick glance at Arthur showed that he wasn't in much better condition.

The sidewalk glittered as sunlight danced across the shards. Alfred looked up. Many feet above where he'd been standing earlier, there were a few men installing windows on the building. They stared down at the damage. A window had dropped.

Alfred didn't want to imagine what would have happened if it'd hit him.

"Everyone okay?" one of the men called.

Alfred just looked back to his arm and hissed in pain. He began to pull the larger shards of glass out, and winced as his arm stung. Blood trickled from the wounds and soon his entire arm was covered in thin crimson streams.

_It could have been worse._

"You're not going to get all of those out," Arthur said, yet even as he spoke he pulled glass out of his own arm.

"How did you find me?" Alfred asked.

Arthur shrugged. "It's not like I looked for you… I just happened to be in the area."

"Right."

What now, he wondered. Glancing up at Arthur's countdown, it was normal, for now. But then again, it'd been normal immediately after the car accident as well, and then fell again shortly after. Would it happen again? Or would they be able to continue to live their lives as normal?

He had saved Arthur, and then Arthur saved him. Surely that cancelled out?

But going back to his normal life almost seemed too good to be true.

Alfred sighed, letting his arm drop to his side. That was all the glass he could pull out for now. He'd probably have to go to the hospital. But now that the adrenaline rush was gone, he felt exhausted and just wanted to go home, but that wasn't a good idea.

"Arth-" he started, but was cut off.

"We should probably get out of here before someone calls an ambulance."

He stared at the Brit, wondering if he was being serious, and as Arthur started to walk away, he followed after him. "What?"

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Well yeah but..." he tried to find the right word, "why are you so _careless_?" he asked, frustrated.

Arthur didn't answer.

"I spent all fucking day thinking I was going to die, then a goddamn sheet of glass nearly impaled us, and all you can say is 'let's get out of here before someone calls an ambulance'?"

Arthur glared at him. "Then stay, if you want. But I'm leaving."

Alfred wanted to argue, but he knew Arthur would keep refusing to stay, and he couldn't lose him. Not now that he had so many questions. So he followed, and the two of them walked in silence away from the skyscrapers and city noise and toward the houses and apartments.

They were heading in the opposite direction from where he lived. The buildings were larger and older here, like Arthur's school had been. His own house couldn't exactly be described as modern (it was in the cheaper, more run-down part of the city, and his mother could barely afford it as it was) but at least it wasn't a hundred years old.

He fought the urge to cradle his arm; he was afraid that touching it would only make it worse. It already stung and tiny beads of blood continued to spring up from the cuts with every movement he made.

"I suppose you're coming over?"

"Huh?"

"Well we're walking in the direction of my house…"

"How do you know I don't live around here?" Alfred asked suspiciously.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You look like you just woke up in another country. Obviously you haven't been here before."

He blinked. "I'm not _that_ easy to read," he mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.

"Please, you're an open book."

_Wish I could say the same for you._

* * *

><p>Arthur's house was two storeys tall and made of grey stone.<p>

Ivy vines climbed up the walls and covered almost every inch of the place. The front door was white and some potted plants Alfred couldn't name stood on either side of it. There was a large window directly above the door, and four on each side of it; two on every floor.

And the garden was _enormous_. Flowers, shrubs, and hedges of all different kinds made the front lawn look like a jungle. These people sure liked gardening.

Arthur held out a hand in front of him before he could step onto the driveway. "Be quiet and follow me," he said, then began to make his way across the lawn.

Alfred stared after him incredulously. "Are you insane? Where the hell are you going!"

Arthur shot him a look over his shoulder. "I said be quiet! Come on!"

Not sure what else to do, he picked his way across the lawn, being careful not to trip over any vines or roots. Arthur led him around the side of the house, then paused by a window.

"Wait here," he said, heading back to the front.

"What are you doing!?" Alfred demanded.

"Going inside. I'll let you in through the window."

"Or, _or_, you could just invite me in through the front door like a normal person."

Arthur sighed. "My family can't see you," he admitted.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Why..?"

"They just can't, okay?" he said, leaving no more room for questions. "Now wait."

Alfred groaned in annoyance, but stayed behind and waited as Arthur went around to the front of the house. He glanced around, wondering how long Arthur would take. It was starting to get cold and his arm still really hurt.

A few moments later, he noticed something in his peripheral vision. There was a second window a few feet away from the one he was at. As he turned his gaze to it, the curtain was quickly drawn shut.

"Stupid Arthur, checking up on me like I'm gonna run off or something," he muttered to himself.

A few minutes later, Arthur pulled aside he curtains and opened the window he had left him at, motioning for him to come in. Lifting himself over the windowsill and into the room, Alfred quickly climbed in, thankful the window wasn't high up.

"This is so weird," he said once he was inside. "And totally unnecessary."

"I already told you my family can't see you."

Arthur's room was not what Alfred expected. Sure, there were all the huge books and assignments lying around that Alfred expected someone like him would have – he was probably that smartass student who corrected the teacher – but his room was also filled with vinyl records and band posters. The Beatles, The Sex Pistols, The Rolling Stones. He even spotted a guitar in the corner of the room.

"Didn't expect you to be into all this stuff," he said motioning toward the posters and records.

Arthur bristled. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Nah," Alfred said. "I'm glad you're actually a teenager and not an old serial killer like in _Orphan_."

"Wow."

Arthur walked over to his desk, where there lay a roll of bandages, a small bowl, and a pair of tweezers. He picked them up and then led Alfred over to the bed, where he told him to sit.

"Okay, now hold out your arm and stay still," Arthur instructed as he sat by him, tweezers in hand and the bowl and bandages lying off to his side.

"Wait, _you're_ going to do this?" Alfred asked, bewildered.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Who else is there?"

_Well okay, he has a point there._ Since Arthur's family couldn't see him for reasons he hadn't yet revealed, Arthur really was the only one in the house that could do this. Alfred held out his injured arm as Arthur had said and watched as he prepared to pull out the smaller shards of glass that Alfred hadn't been able to.

Arthur, using the tweezers, slowly began to pull the glass out of Alfred's arm one by one, dropping the shards into the bowl afterwards. He winced as the wounds stung, no matter how small they were. Soon his arm was dotted with even more tiny pinpricks of blood than before.

"Ouch," Alfred murmured with a pout.

When Arthur seemed to be done, he set the tweezers on his nightstand, glanced back to Alfred, paused, then cursed.

"Shit."

"What?" Alfred asked, staring back at him. "You can't just say that now. Next you'll let me those tweezers just infected me with some flesh-eating virus."

Arthur shook his head. "No, we need to rinse your arm, but I don't know how we're going to get you to the bathroom unseen."

Alfred shrugged. "Go out and make sure the coast's clear, then we make a break for it?"

"Seems like our best bet."

Arthur went and unlocked his door. Alfred hadn't seen him lock it, so he figured he must have done it before letting him into the room, which was probably the obvious thing to do. They couldn't have someone walking in.

Arthur slowly opened the door, then glanced around for any sign of his family. He saw nothing, but heard voices, so he stepped out into the hall and tiptoed toward them.

"Anything?" Alfred whispered from where he was watching Arthur through the crack in the doorway.

Arthur shot him a look, then whispered back, "They're all in the living room. Hurry."

Alfred left the room as quietly as Arthur had, softly closing the door behind him before he followed Arthur to the bathroom a few doors down. Arthur ushered him inside and shut the door behind them, locking this one as well.

He waved a hand toward the sink and told Alfred to wash his arm off. He did, cringing at the sting in his arm when the water first hit the cuts. The smaller ones soon stopped hurting, but the few large wounds continued to sting. Red water ran down the drain.

"Oh, and flesh-eating virus?" Arthur suddenly questioned. "Please. Lay off the horror movies."

"You never know," Alfred said with a slight grin.

Once he was finished, they snuck back to Arthur's room just as they had done before. But right before the door shut behind them, Alfred heard a voice drift over from the living room.

"How long until this is all over?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Shitty chapter I'm sorry but at least it's finally here after like a month.<strong>_

_**I meant to post this like 3 or 4 days ago but I kept forgetting oops 0.0**_

_**In other news I had to make a video for my biology project and I can't stop watching it and laughing oh my God**_

_**/watch?v=i8qc6fWSvlo**_


	6. Chapter 6

After they had returned to the room, Arthur had wrapped his arm with the bandages. Alfred stared down at it with distaste.

"Great, what's everyone gonna think when they see this?"

"You're hiding all the needle marks caused by your heroin addiction."

Alfred ignored him and flopped down on the bed dramatically. He groaned. "I already have people thinking I'm gonna kill myself. It's not like this bandaged arm will totally back up their claims or anything," he said sarcastically.

"Better that than have them ridicule you for something else," Arthur said quietly.

He glanced up at the other blond, who was beginning to pull glass out of his own arm. "Hey, let me do that."

"You really think I'm going to trust you with this?"

"I trusted _you_ with it," Alfred pointed out.

"I bet you've never done anything like this in your life. I've had plenty of experience."

Alfred stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The Brit didn't answer, carefully pulling a jagged piece of glass out of his arm and dropping it into the bowl.

"Just when I thought you were done being weird," Alfred said. His gaze caught on the clock on Arthur's bedside table. "Damn it, it's almost 8."

"And?"

"And like 4 hours ago I ran out of my house, leaving my family with pretty much nothing but the assumption that I'm going to die. And they're probably freaking the fuck out."

"Fair point," Arthur said. He motioned over to the side, tweezers still in hand. "There's the window. Show yourself out."

"Do you treat all your guests like this?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me lay down the red carpet and then carry you out, King Alfred."

Alfred stared at him with furrowed brows. Then, "That's King Jones to you."

Their gazes locked, the tension growing thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Alfred tore his eyes away, suddenly finding the floor more interesting. He couldn't help a small smile.

"Pfft, okay well, goodnight Arthur," he said. He stood and made his way over to the window, pulling it open while Arthur watched with an unreadable expression.

"Goodnight," Arthur said after a moment.

With a mock salute, he leapt out the window, calling, "Take care!"

* * *

><p>By the time he crept into his house, it was probably around 8:30. He shut the door softly behind him and kicked off his shoes in the dark hall. There was golden light emanating from the kitchen and the living room. The rest of the house was shrouded in blackness.<p>

_Good, so they're not in my room._

He quietly passed the kitchen, spotting his mother seated at the table, looking at mail. He then tried to tiptoe past the living room, but the dilapidating house betrayed him as a floorboard creaked loudly and made his presence known.

"Alfred," Matthew said sternly from the living room.

Alfred, silently cursing the house, turned to his brother. "Yeah, bro?" he said as casually as he could.

"Where were you? And why didn't you answer my texts?"

He skipped to the second question and answered with one of his own. "Oh, you texted me?"

"Only like ten times."

"What'd you want?"

Matthew sighed. "I was gonna ask you to pick up a pizza for dinner but there goes that idea."

"Sorry," Alfred said sheepishly. He was suddenly reminded of the day's earlier events. When Arthur had pulled him away from the falling window, he must have dropped his phone. He hoped that wouldn't be a problem in the future. "I lost my phone. I could go get that pizza now, p' sure the place is open 24 hours."

"It's like 9. We're not having pizza now."

"Dude, the only thing keeping us from having pizza now is your attitude."

The only reason he argued was to make Matthew think nothing was wrong. All he really wanted to do at that moment was run up to his room and destroy all evidence that his letter had ever existed. Could he get his hands on a lighter and burn it to ashes?

"Tomorrow, Alfred," Matthew said, shaking his head. Before he could say anything else, Alfred spun around and raced up the stairs, leaving Matthew staring at the spot he'd been just a second ago with nothing more than a, "'kay!"

He stomped up the stairs; now that he'd been caught, he no longer cared about making noise. First, he'd find that letter, tear it up, and burn it. Then he'd burn the ashes. Then a shower would be nice.

After the anxiety of the day, it'd be a relief to wind down and forget his fear of tomorrow, his injured arm, his lost phone, and Arthur.

He never had gotten to the questions he'd been meaning to ask the Brit. After arriving at his house, he'd been so focused on Arthur's weird family and mending his arm that it'd completely escaped his mind.

Perhaps if he had some answers he'd be more at ease. _How did you know when to find me? What's up with your family? Why is your countdown so erratic? What else are you keeping from me?_

_ … __Why exactly did you save me?_

But those were questions for another day, he decided. And maybe, if he was lucky, Arthur saving him _had_ cancelled out this mess he'd gotten himself into with fate, and it was all over. He would never have to hear the answers to those questions. Frankly, he was afraid to.

_Yeah_, that seemed possible. Fate couldn't possibly be that cruel. It had to be over.

Feeling a little more optimistic than before, he cheerfully stepped into his room and turned on the light, gaze immediately going to the bed where he had left the letter.

His heart sunk down to the floor.

It was gone.

_No._

Closing and locking the door behind him, he rushed to the bed, dropping to his knees in front of it. He stared at the spot where he'd left the letter as if it would materialize by sheer will. Of course, no such thing happened and, heart pounding, he jumped to his feet again and grabbed hold of the covers, violently yanking them off the bed. A pillow was launched at his nightstand and knocked his alarm clock to the ground, but he didn't care. Where was the letter?

_Where the hell is it._

It hadn't come flying out of the covers and it was nowhere on the floor around the bed. He even checked under the bed, in case it had somehow ended up there. Nothing.

Fear gripped his heart. Who had found it? Matthew? Or his mom? Which was worse?

Whoever it was, they were going to worry, and that was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. Worry was like fear; it made people do crazy things. They were going to over-think this and try to come up with an explanation and only make everything worse.

And, most importantly, they were going to try to get involved.

This was _his_ problem. His and Arthur's.

He'd already told one person, unable to keep this to himself. And one was enough.

Because if Matthew or his mom discovered the tiny detail he'd – thankfully – left out in his letter, that he'd gotten in the way of fate by saving Arthur, they'd try to do the same for him.

Suddenly, he thought he understood why Arthur hadn't wanted to be saved.

There was no room left for being grateful when your mind was stuck in the clutches of guilt.

Because yes, your life would have been saved.

But it was at the cost of another.

* * *

><p>Alfred went to school the next day with dark purple shadows under his eyes.<p>

After taking a quick, cold shower, he'd gone to bed and lay staring at the ceiling for most of the night. This was familiar to him, as he'd done it many times before. Usually, on nights when his mother cried in drunken sorrow and he couldn't get the image of her anguish out of his mind. On nights like these, his eyes would trace patterns in the ceiling like one might do when trying to make out pictures in the clouds, while his thoughts were elsewhere. In other world, another life, perhaps.

He would imagine many different scenarios; his family living together happily in the city, or maybe in the country. Sometimes there was a dog, sometimes a cat. Sometimes a father. But every time, they were happy,

and that's all that really mattered. And every time, he found himself feeling homesick for something he had never really had to begin with.

Some nights, the dreams were darker, when he didn't imagine _what could have been_ and instead focused on _what could be._ If his mother's drinking grew worse, if his brother continued to grow distant. If he.. ran away.

He knew it was a crazy notion. He was only sixteen, how far could he get on his own? But then again, there were people his age who lived alone. Who supported themselves. Yes, he'd start out with nothing, and it would be difficult, but if you're already on the bottom then where else is there to go but up?

He already had a job. All that was left to do was find a cheap place to live until he could afford something better. And he'd just keep getting better and better until he had a normal house, a normal life.

He could escape.

Last night, there were no patterns in the ceiling. He stared up at empty white with an overflowing mind.

He walked into his math class and fell into his seat like he would on any other day. He'd come in right as the first bell rang, so there weren't many others in the room yet. Those that were there however, were excitedly talking about it being Friday and everything they were going to do that weekend.

Alfred would have joined them before, but now he found that he just didn't really care. It was funny how a week suddenly felt like an eternity when you had something weighing on your mind.

He rested his head on his desk; he was so tired. The closest he'd gotten to falling asleep the previous night was an odd state somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Somehow that seemed worse than being fully awake all night.

He was debating on testing his luck and seeing if he could get away with sleeping in class when his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly thrown backward. He stared, shocked, into the furious red eyes of Gilbert.

He opened his mouth as if to yell at him, then seemed to realize they weren't alone in the room. So instead he simply muttered, "We need to talk," and walked out of the room, expecting Alfred to follow.

Alfred stared at Gilbert's retreating form in the doorway for a split second, before he grabbed his binder and dashed after him. What else could he do? He slipped out of the room right as the second bell rang, past the teacher who was walking in and didn't say anything about his departure.

Gilbert was waiting in the hall outside the classroom. They walked to their lockers to put their stuff away in relative silence, and Alfred wondered if they were going to go outside to talk, but he never got to ask. As he was shutting his locker, Gilbert turned on him, looking a strange mix between livid and hurt.

"You want to explain to me what the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"You know-"

"I thought you were _DEAD!_" Gilbert shouted, his voice echoing in the empty hallway. "The last thing you fucking said to me was that you're scared and gonna die any minute and then you sent me an unfinished text and-" he took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what it's like going hours thinking your best friend is dead?"

"I lost my phone!" Alfred told him angrily. "And I forgot to message you afterwards, okay?"

"You forgot to message me," Gilbert said with a bitter laugh. "How do you just _forget_ to message me about something this serious?"

"Um, I have other things to deal with, you know Gil?" Alfred said, and it wasn't until the words were already out of his mouth that he realized how rude he sounded, but it was too late to take it back. "You're not the one dealing with this shit. You're not the one who has no idea how long it is until he finally dies."

"You're my best friend, so yeah, I am _dealing with this shit_," Gilbert stated.

Alfred shook his head. "Not like I am. Yeah, I should have messaged you. That's my mistake. But you have no right getting pissed at me now when you're not the one who's dying."

"Oh, well excuse me for being worried," Gilbert snapped.

_There's that word._

"I don't need anyone to worry over me."

"You're such a fucking idiot-"

"What good is insulting me gonna do?"

"Why can't you just accept you need help?"

They froze, looking at one another in confusion.

That last voice hadn't been Gilbert's.

Alfred turned toward the source of the voice, panic rising within him. Why had he forgotten they were in the school hallway?

A third person stood a few feet away from them, at the end of the hall. If Alfred thought he was in trouble before, that was nothing compared to this.

He reached out toward him, his voice weak.

"Mattie-"

But his brother already disappeared around the corner.

* * *

><p>Matthew wasn't there when Alfred went home later. And he supposed he was thankful for that; it gave him more time to plan what he was going to say.<p>

He supposed he should just start from the beginning, explain to his brother how he'd run into Arthur, saw five minutes on his countdown, and decided to save him.. and that led him up to where he was now. Hopefully, Matthew would just accept the explanation and then go mind his own business.

He dragged his backpack up the stairs to his room, suddenly remembering how tired he was. Along with the fact that anxiety had kept him up the previous night, the whole week had taken a huge toll on him. _T.G.I.F…_

Alfred entered his room to find his mom sitting on his bed.

"Uh, hey?" he said unsurely. Usually she wouldn't be home, and when she was home she'd be drunk. He hoped that wasn't the case now.

"Alfie," his mom said, patting the spot on the bed beside her. "Come here."

He left his backpack near the door and uncertainly made his way toward her.

His mother held out a box; it wasn't too fancy, nothing gift-wrapped, but the moment he saw it he felt speechless. It was a new phone.

"Mom-"

"Mattie told me yesterday that you lost your phone, so…"

He shook his head, his mind going to the pizza Matthew had mentioned the previous night. Most of the time they couldn't even afford meals other than fast food, and his mom was handing him a new phone?

"We can't afford this," Alfred said, hating how grown-up he sounded. Any other kid his age probably would have jumped at the thought of getting a new phone. And if they were in any other situation, he would have too.

"It's used, if that makes you feel any better," Mom said. "But it's in good condition, it'll work perfectly."

He still found it hard to accept the phone.

"Alfie, you need a phone," his mom insisted. "How are you supposed to call for help if you're ever in an emergency?"

"What's the chance of that happening?" he mumbled.

His mother gave him a sad look and her gaze briefly flickered up. _My countdown_. "You never know," she said after a moment. She held out the box again, and he tentatively took it.

"Alfie," his mom said. She searched for the right words. "If you ever need me… for _anything_… Do not hesitate to call me. No matter what."

"No matter what?" he asked, though he wasn't really looking for an answer. It felt as though there was a bittersweet coating enveloping his broken heart, seeping in through the cracks. And what emptiness that didn't reach, perhaps words could fill.

"No matter what," Mom repeated, then put her arms around him in an awkward side-hug. He tensed, hoping she couldn't tell. It was an odd feeling. It's been so long since his mother – or anyone for that matter, with the exception of maybe Gilbert – had hugged him.

"I love you."

"I…" he stumbled over his words, "I know."

* * *

><p><strong><em>yeLLS I HAD THIS FINISHED LIKE A WEEK AGO AND I WAS TOO LAZY TO POST IT IM SORRY<em>**

**_Fun fact: This used to be 2 chapters but then chapter 6 would only be like 1,000 words and u guys deserve more than that so I combined them_**

**_That's also why there's sO MANY TIME SKIPS_**

**_I usually try to stick to one per chapter but I couldn't find a way to (read: was too lazy to) do this chapter properly without leaving in all the time skips_**

**_me: casually makes fun of my own writing_**

**_"Mom-"_**

**_"Mattie told me yesterday that you lost your phone, so…"_**

**_He shook his head, his mind going to the pizza Matthew had mentioned the previous night._**

**_(of course it did)_**

**_((same tho tbh))_**

**_Please review! ;)_**


	7. Author's Note

Hey! So as you can see this isn't a chapter, though I'd appreciate if you read through to the end despite how long this may get. I'd like your opinion.

First things first: I am not abandoning this story. Not exactly, I mean... You see, this is the only story I've ever written that I actually like, and wish to continue. This still has a long way to go, which is surprising since I usually end stories as soon as possible just to get them over with. Writing's become more of a chore than a hobby; usually I start stories thinking I can finish them, and then abandon them, or the few rare times I do finish them, I rush the ending and nothing really makes sense. It usually takes 1-3 weeks for this to happen. Not this time though.

Despite being published on here sometime in September, Countdown began somewhere around March. To still be interested in it nearly a year later is quite a feat for me. I still wish to finish this story. I may never get another chance like this.

However, that's the problem..

To put it simply, I have no idea what I am going to do with my life. In less than two years I am to go off to college or university, yet nothing interests me at all. Actually, the plan currently is to get some shitty retail job and live with my friend while _she_ goes to college. Even I have to say, what kind of life is that?

I used to want to be an author. Around the time Countdown began, I gave up on that idea since I can't stay interested in my stories long enough to actually finish them. Also, I was kind of put down by the fact that authors don't make too much money and it's difficult to get your book noticed. My friends think I can do it, and eventually I started to sort of believe them.

That didn't fix my motivation though. Countdown remains the only story I like, which means if I ever do publish anything, it'll have to be this. I mean, 50 Shades and Twilight started out as fanfics and they made it, why can't Countdown?

So this is where you come in, readers.

I love you all so much and I'd hate to end Countdown so abruptly. That isn't fair to you. But tell me, what would you think if I rewrote Countdown as an original story? That means it would no longer be USUK, but I'll do my best to keep it as different from all the other YA fiction as possible (even I'm sick of that). The plot would stay mainly the same, but I'm going to try to be as diverse with the characters as possible. It would remain a boy/boy relationship, though one of the characters would be FTM (female-to-male) transgender. It would also be pointed out that one (or more) of the main characters are bi or pansexual. Because we need more representation in media! Think of all the popular books nowadays; how many feature characters that are non-white, non-straight, or non-cis? I would also have more diversity in the background characters, though I haven't planned that far yet.

So what do you think? Should I rewrite Countdown and attempt to get it published? Who knows, maybe it'll get as popular as Twilight (better though) ;D

Let me know your thoughts and if you think I should do this, any ideas you'd like to see in the new Countdown will be appreciated as well!


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